


What Is Needed

by KSForever



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Gender Dysphoria, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Pansexual Greg Lestrade, Trans Male Mycroft Holmes, mention of Phalloplasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KSForever/pseuds/KSForever
Summary: After an evening spent together in bed, making love, and chasing their sexual pleasures in unison; a momentous heart to heart unfolds between Mycroft & Greg.This story is for you, James. It’s based on my own struggle, and I needed to write it for my own sake, but it is for you. Gifted to the brilliant author, James Robinson. My cherished friend.Mark Gatiss, I hope you’re not emasculated by me using your visage, your Mycroft, to envision an FTM member of the LGBTQ community. Being a member of said community, I hope that you would support and understand the genuine importance of fan fics like this, and that it’d be of no bother to you to see Mycroft, for the sake of such stories, in this light.
Relationships: Mention of Johnlock - Relationship, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	What Is Needed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [James Robinson](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=James+Robinson).



What Is Needed

“Tell me, My.” Greg assured. “It’s not something you have to shut up about. Not with me!” His hands reached out to frame Mycroft’s face.

They had been enjoying the first evening they’d been able to spend in bed together in the last eight days. It wasn’t the longest time that their work schedules had kept them apart, or at least unable to luxuriate in amorous nights.

Mycroft’s hips still moved, and he gripped on to Greg, needing them to be ever closer. His movements became increasingly erratic, frustrated. He rolled over, away from Greg, and sat up on the edge of his bed.

“Mycroft!” Greg wanted his lover to look at him.

Suddenly, Mycroft was reminded of countless ‘conversations’ with his mother, imploring her to use this name, and not some cute contraction or bastardisation of it. Also, in every conversation, he dreaded hearing his mother say it wasn’t the name she’d actually chosen for him. ‘You chose it for me!’ He constantly recollected for her, about his name, Mycroft, and his stomach always flipped over, waiting to find out if she’d remind him of the first name she’d chosen for him/for her child. She had chosen the name Mycroft, too. It was a compromise when he told his mother and father that he really couldn’t stand the first given name that his parents had chosen for him. He couldn’t stand to live with it. Apparently, ‘Mycroft’ had been the alternative name, the alternative choice they had in store when he, their first offspring, was born. He knew he could live with that name, odd as it was, more easily. So, from his early teens; his name had become ‘Mycroft’. Greg was the only one allowed to use a pet form of it. More often than not, that was ‘My’. There was a period, way before Greg, when Mycroft’s mother had unquestionably insisted that he try to go back to his old identity. He’d been further in to his teens by then, but his mum was his mum, and she was pushy, and in painful anguish at his decisions; so, he’d tried to obey her. And had stuffed most of his dysphoria, strenuously back in to the box from whence it came. He’d done so for years, and was still doing so, in no small way.

“I can’t do this anymore!” Mycroft had got to the point where he couldn’t always be the cool, calm, measured ice man around Greg. It worried him, for Greg’s sake. Eurus had died in the second fire that she’d set in her life; but, the lessons that she’d taught her brothers; that it wasn’t an advantage for them to care; most especially not for the people they cared about; still lived on. In the Holmes brothers’ lines of work, they had other ‘enemies’ besides their sister. On his worst days and nights, Mycroft still had wakeful dreams that Eurus had tricked them all again; that she was still alive - But, he knew this was genuine paranoia; not his mind working on something his subconscious knew to be true. He hated those dreams. The paranoia. The quicksand. It was like a form of dysphoria. The lover whom he had now turned away from, helped and held him through as many of those nightmares, and all his others, as he was there to witness.

“Mycroft, are you talking about us?” Greg asked, as he tried not to be paralysed with a bolt of fear. He was attempting to get up, because he wanted to walk around to the other side of the bed, and look in Mycroft’s eyes.

Mycroft turned back around to face Greg, but still sat on the end/his side of the bed they shared. “No!” He paused, “But I’m being selfish, wanting you to stay.”

“I won’t let anyone kill me, sweetheart; be they from your line of work, or from mine - and, your sister has truly gone. You and Sherlock have to let yourselves be assured. She won’t make targets or John or I anymore.” Greg reached out, encouraging Mycroft to turn back towards him even more.

“I know, and, you’re right. I do still constantly struggle to believe that we’re now all safe from her. Your first, and unspoken thought and instinct on the reason for my distress though, is correct. The fucking ever present dysphoria!” Mycroft was almost in tears. Certainly not the ice man anymore; definitely not with Greg. “I need something to put somewhere, Greg, to put it obviously and crudely!” He brushed Greg’s hands as he spoke, taking them in his. “I just absolutely, truly fucking hate this! I want to be able to do what you can do! I want to be able to move like my body tells me to, and not just with some plastic fake! I want to be capable! I never bloody will be though, will I? Not really, not fully, because it wasn’t my birthright!”

“If you want to back up the testosterone in your body with even more, and start treatment, I will support you, My. And, if you want the operations; I’ll be right at your side. You’ve got the money, love. If you want to have the operations, get them done, whenever you’re ready. Fuck what your few colleagues who already know you’re not cis, think, and FUCK what your mother thinks; or, if those colleagues, the definite majority, who don’t know right now, end up finding out that you’re not cis male. You’re a better man than any of them! We’ll tackle them, you and me, if anyone causes you any problems - and, anyway, I’m sure that the surgeries can be done with the discretion which is, sadly, still necessary for your career.” Greg looked at his love calmly and earnestly. “I don’t want you to do this is any way for my sake though. I’m Pansexual, not just bi. Yeah, I have to be discreet, like you have to be discreet, and I spent years in the so called safety of a heteronormative marriage with someone who I thought accepted me -and, yes, I’m now free of her and her sham love; but, I’m not missing out by not being with a cis man.” Greg knelt upon the bed then, pulling closer to Mycroft, and rubbed his back lovingly. “You’ve paid for the best packers and prosthetics, too. So, when you use them, and you use them so well, darlin’, I enjoy them very much! But, when you don’t, I adore that equally as much. I just totally love you, no matter what. I’m no trans groupie fetishist!”

“No, you’re not. I know that, Gregory, I promise.” Mycroft touched Greg’s lips with his fingertips. “You’re my gentle beast, but you’re definitely not a fetishist.”

“And, neither are you, love. There’s nothing reproachful in anything that you are.” Greg kissed Mycroft’s fingertips. “Nothing about your true gender, or anything else you worry about being, is anything remotely reproachful.”

“My work is, sometimes. I have to make some tough decisions, Gregory.” Mycroft noted.

Greg coaxed Mycroft in to laying back down fully, and lay there with him. “And, if you make any more very tough decisions; this time, regarding your gender, my man; then, I’ll be absolutely with you, and irrevocably in love with you - as I am now - whatever you decide.”

“I know it might go wrong and I might have no sensation in it, but I want a phalloplasty. I do. I need to be able to thrust myself in, to be capable of giving penetrative sex! I know I might not feel it. I know I’ll be missing out on things still, on however it feels to ejaculate, and I know I’ll need implants and/or a pump, or whatever else, but, God, I need to let my body move the way it craves to!” Mycroft’s voice broke with conviction. “I need to try and give you that pleasure properly, or as properly as I’ll ever be able. I get off on giving you, pleasure, Gregory!” Mycroft smiled.

“I know you do, and I thank you, and the Lord, for that!” Greg grinned. I truly get off on bringing pleasure to you as well!” Greg grinned again, and saw Mycroft’s answering, hopeful smile.

“I need to be able to look down at my own body and see my own penis. I need to have you hold it, if you will?” Mycroft asked, shyly, feeling exposed, and not taking anything about Gregory for-granted.

“Absolutely, I will, Gorgeous! I promise you that, without a shadow of a doubt!” Greg’s smile beamed at his heart, Mycroft.

“I need us both to lay in bed here, and just look at it and touch it together. I need that experience, and to share it with you!” Tears stung Mycroft’s eyes. “I need to know what that feels like!”

Greg completely enveloped Mycroft in an embrace. “We’ll make it happen, together, Sweetheart. My Sweet, Sweet Heart. My man! We’ll make it happen!”

The End..?

16.8.20


End file.
